Toads wriggle themselves into the ground and eventually form a low indent, just low enough to rest at ground level. The skin on their back is lumpy and textured, just like the dirt around them. They can change colors and will change to camouflage themselves with their surroundings. The only thing that gives them away is the periodic blinking of eyes or a squirm that presses them lower into their shallow hole.

The gardener happens on them infrequently, and it's memorable. One toad will eat its weight in slugs, a good thing.

Very early in the mornings, the really observant and lucky gardener might find a clear wing hawkmoth before its lost its wing plate. With the moths first flight, the solid center will fall to reveal the finely veined clear wing that defines them. Many mistake this day flying moth for a baby hummingbird. Seeking flowers to sip nectar, it moves rapidly with a small fuzzy body. The larvae feed on honeysuckle vines in fall and look like small tomato hornworms. Their pupae are the brown cocoons you find in the dirt when you dig. They arch back and forth, squirming in your hand if you pick them up.

I mention these things because I have just returned from a workshop in Canada with the world renowned photographer Freeman Patterson. Freeman is a photographer and a gardener, an avid gardener. His bragging rights?, Oh there are many. Growing the rare blue Himalayan poppy is one, being able to compose a fabulous picture is what is his life's work.

He tells a story to his students, the defining moment when he learned to observe. As a small child, his mother pointed out a flock of birds flying overhead. She told him to follow them as they flew and when they turned, he would see a flash of white. As the flash of white happened, just as promised, he realized she had watched them often. That he recalls was possibly the most astonishing, life altering pre-visualization.

Two prerequisites are required for the artist and the gardener. The eye to see something and the skill to create it in a defined space. The lesson I learned from Freeman is to share your observations. Share them with your children, grandchildren, nieces and nephews. Little things, how shadows move in a day, how clouds billow before a summer rain, how finches flock to sunflower seed. It may change everything.